


A Darkness Upon Me, Flooded in Light

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, M/M, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “We’re retired,” said Steve.“Right, I know, same here! Just—could you look into this one tiny thing. Please. It’ll be super quick, low profile. Heck, consider it a vacation! If you and Barnes could just—”When recovering a mysterious, dangerous artifact requires two people with a "bond deeper than death," Steve and Bucky are the only ones who might fit the bill. Retired or not, maybe it wouldn't be so bad going on one last mission with Bucky if that mission involved pretending to be married to him.





	A Darkness Upon Me, Flooded in Light

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some nebulous, happily ever after period after Infinity War. Title from The Avett Brothers' Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise.

“We’re retired,” said Steve.

“Right, I know, same here! Just—could you look into this one tiny thing. Please. It’ll be super quick, low profile. Heck, consider it a vacation! If you and Barnes could just—”

Steve cut Tony off, and refused to feel any remorse about it. If he didn’t do it now, he’d be on the phone with Tony for another hour at least, and they’d be yelling at each other by the end of it.

“No,” he said, and hung up.

He really didn’t know how much more clear they could be. He and Bucky were _retired_. That meant _no more fighting_ , that meant no shield and no guns and no briefings. There had been a time, not that long ago, when Steve couldn’t imagine what an end to fighting would even look like, what it would mean. There’d been a time, not that long ago, when Steve had thought, _great, we’re gonna lose to this purple alien asshole who looks like a diseased toe and the whole planet’s going to blow up and all because this jerk wants some pretty rocks._

But then even that fight had ended, with them winning, even. In the transport pod back to Earth, Steve had thought, with a kind of total, serene finality he’d never felt before: _I’m done. We’re done_. He maybe should have had that thought as he looked out the window, at the beautiful jewel of Earth in space, all its billions of inhabitants still alive and free and not blown up. Instead, he’d had it looking at Bucky.

Bucky, who’d started shaking and shaking, and when Sam had asked him _hey, you okay,_ he’d just said _I can’t. I can’t do this again_. Steve had felt it then, the finality, the certainty. He’d put his arms around Bucky, and said to no one in particular, _we’re done_.

Bucky hadn’t said anything else on the rest of the trip back to Earth, he’d just clenched one fist tight in Steve’s shirt, and looked out the window into space, still shaking. Steve had held him close the whole time while he tried not to think about how he never wanted to let Bucky go. How maybe, for once, he wouldn’t have to.

So now they lived in a small town in New Zealand, because once they were back on Earth, Steve had caught Bucky staring with something like longing at the hobbit hole homes in the Lord of the Rings movies, and because New Zealand seemed satisfyingly far away from everything. Also, they didn’t have to do anything other than look after some dumb sheep and an apple orchard here, and Steve could become a reclusive, temperamental artist. Retirement was great.

Retirement was great as long as people _let them stay goddamn retired_.

* * *

“Sam called me today,” said Bucky as he made dinner that night.

“Yeah, how is he?”

“Fine. He said something about a mission for us?” Bucky’s voice was mild, but his broad shoulders were stiff as he stirred the onions.

“Ignore him. There’s no mission. We’re retired.”

“ _You’re_ retired. Some of us work for a living.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Bucky didn’t have to work, but he insisted on it, and earned a decent enough living for the both of them doing freelance translation work online, and working part time at the bookstore in town. Steve figured he needed to keep busy, and he liked the sight of Bucky curled up in over-large sweaters tapping away at his laptop, or reading in the sunshine on the porch, so he didn’t give Bucky too much shit about it.

“We’re retired from superheroing,” said Steve, and joined Bucky at the stove. He kept his hand at the small of Bucky’s back until Bucky’s tension eased. “Ignore anyone who calls about missions.”

* * *

It was easier said than done. T’Challa called next, and Bucky never refused a call from T’Challa. Which Tony had been counting on, because it turned out this was a surprise conference call.

“Hear me out!” said Tony’s tinny voice through the phone speaker.

“Oh my—no, Tony! Hang up, Bucky!”

Bucky didn’t hang up. He put the phone on speaker. “T’Challa? What’s up?”

“There is a mission,” said T’Challa, and Bucky’s face settled into the look Steve had grown to hate, the one where grim exhaustion and resolve carved deep lines on his face, like he was a sculpture of some suffering martyr. Steve wanted to fly to Wakanda and punch T’Challa in the face. No one got to make Bucky look like this anymore. “You two are uniquely suited to it, and I would leave Stark to deal with it, but—”

“No one else is free to do it, and I’m down to trawling through Hell’s Kitchen trying to recruit that guy with the horns and that mean lady who can lift a car. Who don’t qualify for the mission parameters, by the way. And seriously, this is an easy mission! No violence, probably! Just go to this party, buy and/or steal the almost certainly alien artifact, and get out!”

Steve wasn’t moved. “And no one else can do this. Not Natasha, not Sam, not Scott, not Hope, not Thor—”

“Not Wanda, not Carol, not any of the Dora Milaje—” Bucky continued.

“Unfortunately, no,” said T’Challa, and he sounded so annoyed and disgusted that Steve was inclined to believe him. “The artifact is not an infinity stone, but it is something like it, an object of power. And apparently the only people who can hold onto it are couples. Those with a ‘bond deeper than death.’ Anyone else is burned or blinded.”

“Some venture capital dick who was living out his Indiana Jones dreams found it in some old tomb, and he’s auctioning it off to whatever couple is willing to pay enough for the privilege to hold it. We need you two to go get it so we can just chuck the thing into the sun and make sure we’re not in for Infinity Gauntlet version 2.0,” said Tony.

Steve had to admit, he was kind of proud that for once, Tony’s immediate reaction was to destroy an object of mysterious power, rather than try to use it or figure it out. But then, even Tony had to have learned that particular lesson by now. Fucking Thanos.

“How do you know it’s not all bullshit?” asked Bucky.

“Because Scott and Hope already tried to steal it, and almost got their faces burned off by the thing.”

“Are they okay?” asked Steve.

“Yeah, they’re fine, Dr. Cho fixed them up. I’d send a bot to get it, but the thing melts them too. Seriously, do you think I _want_ to deal with this thing, or drag you two into it? I don’t.”

Tony’s voice had gone tight and clipped, and Steve stifled a wince. They were on better terms these days, and Tony and Bucky had reached an understanding of sorts. Fighting a war together tended to help with that. But they did better on opposite ends of the globe from each other.

“You are the only two people we know who are most likely to qualify for having a ‘bond deeper than death.’” It was probably just T’Challa’s inherent royal dignity, but it sounded like a big deal when he put it like that. “I would go with Nakia, but—”

Bucky snorted. “Okoye, Shuri, your mom—”

Steve continued, “Nakia, Ayo, and the entire council—”

“Said no?” they finished together.

“Yes, I have been quite thoroughly vetoed by everybody,” said T’Challa, sounding put-out. Steve and Bucky exchanged a grin.

“So T’Challa and Nakia are out. That leaves you two! Just go to this auction, pretend to be married, and get the thing, that’s all. No fighting!” promised Tony.

“You seem really sure we’ll be able to hold it,” said Steve, just as T’Challa said, “ _Pretend_ to be married?”

“Yeah, the auction’s limited to married couples, I’ve got fake IDs ready for you two—”

“But I thought they were already married.”

“Uh. We’re not married,” said Bucky.

“Really?” asked T’Challa. He sounded deeply suspicious.

“We’re definitely not married,” confirmed Steve. He ignored the part of him that was thinking, _being married to Bucky sounds like a good idea though, right? Then you’d get to keep him for good._

“That’s ridiculous,” said T’Challa, with all the ringing force of a royal decree.

Bucky frowned down at the phone.

“Is it?” said Tony with disingenuous innocence. “They’re just besties who have a bond deeper than death and who live together in domestic bliss in a rustic cabin in the country! So anyway, will you do it? The auction’s this weekend.”

Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged. He’d mostly relaxed from his earlier tension, and there was some amusement in the curve of his mouth.

“Don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” murmured Bucky, and he had a point.

“Send us the full briefing, every detail you have. We’ll let you know by tomorrow,” said Steve.

“Yes!” crowed Tony, then he lowered his voice and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Great, thanks. FRIDAY’s sending it over right now.”

“I will send a jet if the mission is acceptable,” said T’Challa, a rumble of discontent in his voice. “We are _not_ redoing your medical paperwork, Bucky. If anyone in Wakanda asks, you and Steve are married.” T’Challa muttered something unintelligible in Wakandan, then said, “Shuri will be disappointed. Perhaps you two could see your way to ensuring that Shuri will _not_ be disappointed.”

“About what? And uh, I don’t know why my paperwork would say me and Steve are—”

“A translation error, probably. I must go. I hope you two will take on the mission.”

* * *

The mission details were straightforward enough: since the artifact couldn’t be moved, the auction was being held at the site of the ancient tomb it had been found in, in Symkaria. The only likely threat, beyond the artifact itself, was the possibility of Latveria’s Dr. Doom making a play for the artifact. With Tony and T’Challa bankrolling their bidding, there was no worry about running out of money. They just had to bid, win, and then get their hands on the thing, and get out of there. Easy. Supposedly.

“I don’t feel good about how little we know about the artifact,” said Steve, as he and Bucky reviewed the file. “And anyway, anything you find in a tomb should stay there.”

Bucky snorted. “Tell that to all the bastards who raided poor King Tut’s tomb.” He pulled up the photo of the artifact. “I guess I can see why all these rich folks would want this though. They’re all about shiny rocks, and this is a real nice one.”

Bucky was right. The artifact looked like an opal, only it was bigger than a basketball, with scooped indentations on the sides, presumably where the couple with a “bond deeper than death” was supposed to hold it. Steve couldn’t say what color the artifact was; even in a photo, the opaline shades of the thing shifted and shimmered between too many colors to identify, much less name.

“Looks kind of like the satellite images of those nebulas in space,” said Bucky after they spent a couple minutes staring at the photo.

“But what the hell does it _do_? And have they translated the inscription right? What does it even mean to have a ‘bond deeper than death’?”

“Who knows, but you gotta admit, better for us to find out instead of anyone else. Nip a whole possible world domination thing in the bud, no shots fired.”

“So you’re saying we should take the mission.”

“Yeah.”

Steve turned away from the mission file, and studied Bucky. Peace and New Zealand agreed with him, gave him a steady and centered stillness that felt like the center of gravity Steve’s entire world revolved around. Thanks to Shuri and Wakanda’s doctors, Bucky was free of the chains of the trigger words, and he’d recovered a lot of his memories. Bucky still carried his pain, sure, and always would, but his faced creased readily into a smile now. That terrible, soul-deep exhaustion didn’t often line his face anymore, and his eyes didn’t take on that haze of pained blankness. Would a mission destroy all that hard-fought peace?

“You’re sure?” asked Steve.

“I’m sure,” said Bucky, and smiled, small, but genuine.

Steve texted Tony and T’Challa: _we’ll take the mission._

* * *

That night, Steve stared at the ceiling of their bedroom, unable to sleep. _A bond deeper than death_.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” said Bucky from the other side of the bed. “What is it?”

He didn’t want to ask Bucky _do you think we have a bond deeper than death_? So instead he asked, “What translation error did T’Challa mean?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. I cribbed off the medical proxy form you filled out before I went in cryo. So what’d _you_ put?”

Steve frowned, casting his mind back. It felt like a long time ago now, those battered and frantic days after the fight in Siberia. He’d nearly refused to be Bucky’s medical proxy, insisting that Bucky stay out of cryo, but then Bucky had said _alright, I’ll put someone else down then_ , and Steve had sort of whited out in horror and rage before telling Bucky _no, put me_. And yeah, then someone had handed him a tablet with forms to fill out as the proxy, and there’d been a bunch of options under _Relationship with Patient_. The form had been hastily translated though, some words still in Wakandan where English had no equivalent, and Steve had looked them up on the Wakandan internet. A bunch of the words were for extended family and tribal relationships that had no parallel in Steve’s experience, but one word had sounded about right for his and Bucky’s relationship, so he’d put that down.

“I put what fit best. For what we are. Maybe I misunderstood, I was working off a dictionary, and some of the words were in a different alphabet...”

Bucky let out a quiet, amused kind of huff. “Guess we’re married in Wakanda now.”

_How about marrying me in New Zealand?_ Steve thought. But that was Steve demanding too much, too fast, like he always did. They were just friends. They had that back now, after time and ice and war, and it should be enough. They shared a bed because Bucky slept better that way, and they shared a home because neither of them wanted to be alone anymore. None of that had to mean more than it had back in 1939.

* * *

The jet T’Challa sent had everything they needed for mission prep: fancy suits for the auction and the reception before it, fake IDs, discreet weapons, and a few not-so-discreet weapons, just in case. Per Tony’s promise, they just had to get in there and get out with the artifact, while looking believably married.

“We should come up with a cover story, how we met, when we got married...”

Bucky looked up from checking the guns. “Don’t overthink it, Steve. Sticking closest to the truth is easiest. We’ve just gotta be believable enough to get through some small talk at a reception, the rest’s already been taken care of.”

“Alright, fine. So, we met when we were kids, became best friends—”

“Moved in together when I was 20—” After Steve’s ma had died, and once Bucky had finally worn Steve’s stubborn pride down.

“Were we in love then?” asked Steve. He had been.

Bucky put the gun down, his mouth softening into a smile. “Yeah. But neither of us had made a move yet.”

Steve had to swallow and clear his throat of the lump that had taken up residence there. “We got married when I was 22, you were 23, according to the identities Tony set up. Wasn’t legal everywhere yet, but we didn’t want to wait.”

When they’d actually been 22 and 23, it had been 1939. Bucky’d just gotten a better job, Steve had scraped together enough money to take more art classes. A good year, one full of promise, even with war looming.

“23, huh? Good year for it. We were on our way up in the world,” said Bucky, still smiling.

Steve smiled back. “Oh yeah. Had a whole dollar to spare after making rent at the end of the month.”

“Hey now, adjust that for inflation,” said Bucky, and they both laughed.

“So, married at 22, together since then. You stayed, even when I got sick.” Now Bucky’s smile faded, and Steve knew he had to get the next part right. “But I got better, though I changed a lot too, and you still stayed. Then—then you got hurt, and you were lost for a while, and things were—things were bad. But you held on. You did everything it took to hold on for me.”

Steve understood that now. Weeks of staring at Bucky in a cryotube and reading his journals, going over the Winter Soldier files—Steve understood now, what it had meant for Bucky to endure.

“I ran away from you,” said Bucky, eyes downturned, his voice low and shaking.

“To keep yourself safe. To keep me safe too. It’s alright.” Steve understood that now too.

Bucky gave him a sharp glare and shook his head, but didn’t argue. Instead he turned his attention to his prosthetic arm, and opened up a small panel in the wrist. He touched something inside it, and the vibranium and gold of the arm Shuri had made for him flickered, and shifted to skin. Bucky usually never used that feature, and it startled Steve every time, especially when he touched it. The appearance of skin was only a detailed hologram, and Bucky’s arm still felt like smooth vibranium to the touch under the illusion. It would do for a brief undercover mission.

Bucky apparently considered their cover story taken care of, because he moved on to poring over the satellite imagery and maps of the tomb and surrounding areas, and Steve left him to it while he reviewed the intel on Symkaria and the seller. After a couple hours of that, Steve figured they were as prepared as they were going to be.

“We should try to get some sleep. We’ll be headed straight to the reception and the tomb once we touch down,” Steve said.

He lingered awkwardly, wondering if Bucky would follow him, if they’d share a bed here too. Sharing felt different, after the fake married life they’d just sketched out.

“Hmm. Gimme a minute,” was all Bucky said, and Steve nodded, and headed for the jet’s sleeping quarters.

The jet’s sleeping quarters were small, but private and comfortable. Royalty traveled in style, Steve supposed. He stripped down to his briefs and undershirt and got under the covers. Bucky slept on the left side of the bed, always had, and Steve left the space for him now. He didn’t know if Bucky would take it. The minutes he spent alone in the bed felt too long, and Steve spent them agonizing over whether he’d said too much to Bucky, made it too obvious that the cover he’d sketched out was the life he’d wanted once, in some small guarded part of his heart, before Peggy and the war. Still wanted, really. It was possible now, after all, if he just told Bucky, if he just asked— _Stupid_ , he told himself. What they had now was good, it was enough. If he fucked this up, Bucky could leave. He had to give Bucky space.

Maybe not too much space though, because Bucky joined him.

“I checked with the pilot, we have about seven hours before she starts the descent. I set an alarm to wake us in five hours,” said Bucky as he slid under the covers.

Steve tamped down on his sigh of relief. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and shifted closer to Bucky’s warmth.

He fell asleep imagining the wedding that could have been, if they had lived in the better world of their cover. Something simple, he thought. Both of them in their best suits, going down to City Hall with rings in their pockets, and a small party afterwards. Bucky would have danced with him, and laughed when Steve inevitably stepped on his toes…

When the alarm woke them five hours later, they’d drifted together like they usually did, Bucky’s arm over Steve’s hip, Steve’s face smushed up against Bucky’s chest, one hand tangled up in Bucky’s shirt.

“Five more minutes,” mumbled Steve against Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky’s chest shook.

“That tickles,” he hissed, and wriggled away from Steve. “C’mon, get up, we gotta get ready,” he tousled Steve’s still-long hair, then he cruelly deprived Steve of his five more minutes by getting out of bed.

It wasn’t so different from any other morning, really. Steve just wished—it didn’t matter what he wished. This was enough.

* * *

Getting ready consisted of strapping on some discreet weapons and putting on their probably horribly expensive suits, which fit perfectly. Helpful post-it notes in Tony’s handwriting identified which suit was whose: _EX-CAPSICLE_ and _BUCKY WITH THE GOOD HAIR_.

“How does Tony know our measurements? For all he knows, we let ourselves get fat in retirement,” grumbled Steve.

Bucky eyed his suit in disapproval. The slim cut and bold color were probably fashionable, but Bucky would definitely stand out in it.

“How does Stark know the exact opposite of the suit I’d want to wear,” muttered Bucky.

Once Bucky put the suit on though, Steve thought he maybe owed Tony a thank you. The almost turquoise blue of the suit jacket looked damn good on Bucky, made the blue of his eyes stand out. Steve, meanwhile, looked like a very rich undertaker.

Bucky gave him a critical once-over. “Maybe we can swap ties.”

“No, mine wouldn’t match your jacket,” said Steve, and poked around the rest of the things left for them. Watches that doubled as recording devices and trackers, fat money clips with Symkarian currency and euros, gloves, cufflinks, and…two jewelry boxes. Their wedding rings.

Right. Of course they had to wear wedding rings.

“T’Challa texted me. Said Shuri made the rings,” said Bucky.

Steve opened one of the boxes. A plain band was nestled inside, made of the same vibranium and gold alloys that Bucky’s arm was, only with the inverse ratio, more gold than vibranium. It would look good on Bucky’s hand, would gleam richly against the blue-gray of his prosthetic fingers. Bucky opened the other box to reveal a similar band, only this one echoed Bucky’s arm exactly.

Before Steve could say anything, Bucky took out the vibranium ring and slid it onto his own ring finger.

“It’s kinda loose,” he murmured, before sliding it back off again. “Think this one’s supposed to be yours.”

He took Steve’s left hand and eased the ring onto Steve’s ring finger, slow and careful, making sure it wouldn’t catch on Steve’s knuckle. It fit perfectly. Steve never wanted to take it off. Maybe, he thought wildly, he could pretend it was stuck. _Because that’s definitely how marriage works, Rogers, you’re married forever as long as you can’t take the ring off_.

“Here, let me put yours on,” said Steve, like he just wanted to do Bucky a favor and not—not anything else. The slide of metal on metal made a hushed ringing sound, and the ring settled snugly on Bucky’s ring finger. Steve almost wanted to ask Bucky to turn off the camouflaging hologram so he could see how it looked on Bucky’s actual left hand. As it was, the gold glinted warmly and caught the eye. It was a far nicer ring than either of them could have afforded if they’d done this for real, back in ’39.

Bucky turned his hand in Steve’s, and gave it a quick squeeze before stepping back. “Uh. Wanna go over our exit strategy again?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

* * *

All told, it took them nearly a full day of traveling time before they were finally at the site of the tomb where the auction and the reception before it would be held. There was nothing but a small village nearby, the tomb itself located out among windswept hills, bare of anything but bent-backed trees and tall grasses. Satellite imagery hadn’t revealed anything suspicious, but they still got there early enough to do some quick recon and take energy readings for Tony.

“Just doing some sightseeing!” Steve said to the harried staff who were still getting ready for the reception in the makeshift courtyard of elegantly draped large tents, while Bucky cornered the stressed-looking archaeologist to ask her questions.

It didn’t take long for guests to begin trickling in, all of them stepping daintily out of Land Rovers and Jeeps, decked out in finery that looked out of place in the sere surroundings. The waitstaff began herding guests into the tents, where dramatic lighting and some decorative plants did little to make it all look less like a gently crumbling ruin. Steve got why the archaeologist looked so stressed now.

“You find anything suspicious?” Steve asked Bucky.

“Not really. Nothing apart from the archaeologist being kind of worried about this whole place falling down around our ears, anyway. You?”

“No weird energy readings. There’s just a couple generators, that’s it.”

“Guess we oughta mingle,” said Bucky, and set his shoulders as if he was entering battle.

Steve grabbed a couple champagne glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to Bucky. “After you.”

Bucky snorted. “Because I’ve got such great social skills nowadays,” he said, and took a swig of the champagne, but he didn’t protest when Steve settled his free hand at the small of his back and directed them through the crowd.

As they talked to the other guests, Steve wondered why they’d ever bothered to even work up a cover; everyone was so busy talking about themselves, they didn’t give a damn about anyone else. These people with too much money and too little sense were here for a thrill and a pretty rock, the opportunity to buy some new conversation piece. If the artifact also gave the people who could hold it unimaginable power, all the better.

To his mind, the real problem was that no one was sufficiently concerned about the whole “bond deeper than death” thing, and the likelihood of having their faces burned off. They’d all been amply warned, and everyone had signed waivers. A grisly video of the initial discovery had even been distributed to all attendees. But the guests either didn’t believe it:

“It’s just a stunt to make this all seem more exciting.”

“C’mon, that wasn’t real, this is like one of those interactive theater things, y’know? I did the No-End House a couple years ago and—”

Or if they did believe it, they were blithely certain they’d be just fine:

“Me and Sherry here, we’ve definitely got a bond deeper than death. We’re just _connected_ , you know? We met in spin class, and I just _knew_.”

“Everyone’s overthinking that inscription! You just have to have gotten married with a vow that wasn’t ‘until death do us part.’ Now, Mitch and me, we wrote our own vows, and we said we’d be together across _all_ our lifetimes—”

With every couple they talked to, Bucky’s eyebrows inched ever so slightly higher and higher, and Steve had to fight down a surge of inappropriate hilarity that sat uncomfortably with his increasing worry. Was he the only damn person who was appropriately concerned about what it meant to touch a thing that required a bond deeper than death? Was the translation accurate? Was the inscription even right?

And what did the artifact even do?

“I think it binds two souls together for eternity,” said one starry-eyed woman.

“Immortality, it’s got to be immortality,” said a hungry-eyed man.

“It’s in a tomb,” responded Bucky.

“So?”

Bucky opened his mouth as if he were about to explain, then clearly thought better of it and just smiled insincerely instead.

One smarmy guy baldly asked them what made them think they’d be able to hold the artifact.

“We’ve been through a lot together, been best friends since we were kids,” Steve answered. It didn’t seem impressive when Steve put it like that, two wars and decades of Bucky’s suffering and Steve’s time in the ice compressed to two tiny words: _a lot_. Was it enough?

“Cute,” said the guy, with a smug smirk.

“You?” asked Steve.

“Oh, Anya and me, we’re not taking any chances.” He threw a possessive arm around his partner’s waist, a curvy woman teetering in her high heels. “We had a doctor stop our hearts for a few minutes, then bring us back.”

“Smart,” said Bucky in a flat voice.

They talked to every single couple at the reception. A few seemed like perfectly normal, loving couples who had too much money and a hankering for adventure. Most didn’t seem like they had a bond deeper than death. Especially not the guy who was on wife number four.

But then what the hell did Steve know. Maybe the smirking asshole and Anya had the right idea, fulfilling the literal conditions of the inscription. Or maybe Mitch and Danica were right, and it was just about wording your vows right. Shit, maybe he and Bucky should have taken their cover further, an accidental paperwork marriage and a couple rings probably weren’t enough. Lena and Tara thought “the little death” counted, which if that was true, Steve and Bucky were shit out of luck, because they were probably the only damned couple in here who’d never had sex with each other.

“Bucky, quick, we should exchange vows, just in case—”

“What?”

“I was just thinking, maybe Mitch and Danica are right, and it’s about the vow. Or, uh, maybe Lena and Tara are right?”

Now Bucky looked thoroughly scandalized. “So we should….what, have a quickie in the bathroom?”

Steve took a nervous, too-big swallow of his fourth glass of champagne. “Maybe! I don’t know! We jumped into this too fast, we should’ve considered all the options! I don’t want you to get your face burned off!”

“You’re really worried about this,” said Bucky slowly, peering at Steve with too much focus. Bucky’s eyes were too keen. He always saw too much of Steve. “Why?”

Steve gaped at him. “I—seriously? Of course I’m worried! It’s a weird mysterious artifact, we can’t know what it means. And a bond deeper than death, I don’t even know what that is! I don’t know why _you’re_ not worried!”

Bucky was so calm, and usually his steadiness was a balm, but right now Steve just felt like a mess in comparison. His suit was tailored with unforgiving severity (thanks Tony), but he still felt like he was small again, and swimming in a rumpled suit too big for him, while Bucky looked sharp and effortless beside him. Bucky didn’t answer Steve’s diatribe, just handed off both of their half-full champagne glasses to a passing waiter, and tugged Steve into a little alcove by a fake plant. They were nearly flush against each other, close enough that Steve could feel Bucky’s breath as it puffed out against his cheek and the side of his neck, steady and slow. The heat of it was maddening.

Steve clenched his jaw and looked over Bucky’s shoulder into the middle distance, but Bucky huffed out a quick breath of annoyance, and tilted Steve’s head to face him. This close, Bucky’s eyes were overwhelmingly deep and sea-blue. This close, and the smallest movement would tip them into a kiss.

“I’m not worried,” said Bucky. “Because if this thing is real, if it means what it sounds like it does, then I know—what ties me to you? That’s deeper than death. I died again and again, in the ice and on HYDRA’s goddamn operating tables. I was erased. I lost just about everything it’s possible to lose. And I still knew you. Not your name, and not mine, but I knew _you_. I made my vow already, Steve, and I have tried my damndest to keep it. There’s not much deeper to go, after that.” Now Bucky licked his lips and swallowed, some of the fire in his eyes fading and turning to uncertainty. “Maybe it’s not the same for you. But from my end? I’m not worried.”

Then Bucky pivoted neatly away from the alcove, from Steve, and strode away towards the tomb.

* * *

Steve spent a couple minutes clutching the fake plant and wishing it produced oxygen like a real plant would, because Steve felt like he definitely wasn’t getting enough air, and also he was trying to remember how gravity worked. He only remembered when it tugged him back towards Bucky, waiting for him at the line to enter the tomb.

What Bucky had just said demanded a response, but Steve couldn’t come up with one. A stirring pre-battle speech, a one-on-one pep talk, Steve could do that. But this—he never had the right words for this. He settled for taking Bucky’s hand, the left one, and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the gold and vibranium ring on Bucky’s finger.

“It’s the same for me,” he whispered, and Bucky’s breath hitched. Before either of them could say any more, the line moved, and they were entering the tomb.

The space was too small and cramped for the number of people in it, and it would be standing room only for the auction. The dull granite walls of the tomb itself lent the entire place a dusty and drab atmosphere, but when he looked closer, he could see faint flakes of faded paint on the walls, a hint that the tomb hadn’t always been so gray. The tomb was otherwise empty, anything of value or archaeological interest already been taken out, save for the artifact itself, which stood on a plinth towards the front of the tomb. In person, its shifting dark and light colors were even more captivating, and a murmur of appreciation and awe rippled through the room.

Bucky was tense beside him now, and when Steve turned to check on him, he grimaced, indicating the exit with a flick of his eyes and an unhappy twitch of his head. _Only one exit_. And yeah, that was less than ideal. Steve pulled out his phone to check the energy readings, angling the screen so Bucky could see too: all clear. Nothing for it but to get this auction over with then.

First though, they had to endure a portentous speech full of mystical woo-woo nonsense that Steve tuned out in favor of scoping out the crowd of bidders for any suspicious behavior. Then the Indiana Jones wannabe putting the artifact up for auction had to project a video into the air showing just what happened to people who touched the artifact without having a “bond deeper than death.” This prompted a wave of gasps and outrage, and a few people left. They’d gotten their thrill. They were too squeamish for the rest. Then, finally, the auction began.

Steve tried not to think about how much money the bids represented, he just kept going mindlessly higher. The objective was to win, the money didn’t matter, he told himself. Even so, a couple times, Bucky had to pinch him to keep him bidding. After nearly an hour, the bids finally went high enough that no one went higher than Steve’s last bid.

“Come on up, gentlemen. If you are…unable to hold onto your prize, the bidding will begin again.”

Well, that wasn’t good. This night could turn very gruesome, and very dangerous, if no one met the artifact’s criteria. He and Bucky shared a grim glance, and made their way through the tittering crowd to the artifact on its plinth.

The Indy imposter gave them a smarmy grin, an almost malicious excitement lighting his eyes. “So! A bond deeper than death, huh? You sure? Maybe you should share your story with all of us, so we know what counts and doesn’t count, in case you’re not successful.”

Bucky stared the asshole down. “No.” The guy’s grin faltered, gaze skittering away from Bucky and back towards the artifact.

“Oh. Uh, okay! Just, um, grab on then, I guess. There’s a medical team right outside!”

Steve went around to the right side of the artifact, and Bucky the left. Up close, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that the artifact was _full_ of something, that the shimmering colors on its surface weren’t just from the play of light on the alien material, but that they were something physical swirling within it. There was no heat around it though, no sense of energy filling it, no sound or vibration. It didn’t have the glow or skin-crawling tingle of the Tesseract either. It just sat on the plinth, waiting.

“On three?” asked Steve, and Bucky nodded, his jaw set. _Deeper than death_ , thought Steve, and took hold of Bucky’s free hand. “One…two…three.”

They both touched the artifact, gripping it by the scalloped indentations on the side, and waited. For long seconds, nothing happened.

“Huh, well at least we’re not getting burned, let’s just—” started Bucky, and then colors bloomed and burst forth from the artifact, filling Steve’s vision.

Steve lost track of his body, and for a few wild seconds, he thought he’d been transported to _inside_ the artifact, but no, he could still feel Bucky’s hand gripping his, and when he turned to look at Bucky—

He knew Bucky’s body had to still be there, he could feel Bucky’s hand in his, but all he saw when he looked at where Bucky should have been was a swirl of light and dark in the vague shape of a person, and thick cords of light running between both of them. The light was steady and somehow ferocious, defiant in its shifting shades of white and blue. Looking at that light, Steve understood that it was Bucky, every shade of color and flare of light translating to some beloved aspect of him: the strength of his spirit and the depth of his bravery, the steady ferocity of his devotion, his careful kindness. He couldn’t explain _how_ he understood that, not when everything was a confusing jumble of sensory input from senses Steve wasn’t even sure he was using right now, not in the normal way of things anyway.

Confusing or not, Steve kind of wanted to wrap himself up in that light’s glow, but there was darkness there too. The deep veins of shadow running through and around the light didn’t dim it; instead, they only rendered the light all the brighter and more beautiful. Here was Bucky’s pain, deep and thick, his ruthlessness and his anger, the palpable weight of his guilt, all the cold parts of him. The light and the dark both shivered and shimmered, as if Bucky wanted to pull away or hide, as if there was any part of him Steve didn’t want.

Steve loved him more than he’d ever be able to say. The cords of light between them flared and hummed, and maybe they said it, because Bucky didn’t go, and his light burned brighter, fiercer. Was this always burning inside him, where Steve couldn’t see? He wondered what Bucky was seeing when he looked at Steve right now.

He’d have stared at Bucky forever if he could have, probably, but something pulsed in Steve’s awareness, and he turned to look where the artifact should be. Bucky had said it reminded him of a nebula, and now it looked like one, a gaseous ball of shimmering colors.

Static and throbbing filled Steve’s head before resolving into QUERY: OBJECTIVE.

Steve scrambled for an answer or even a question in response, but Bucky was on top of it and asked, “We need more data. What is your function?”

POWER. WEAPON. THE RESHAPING OF MOLECULAR BONDS.

That sounded scary and bad. Steve didn’t really want anything to do with that. He was _retired,_ dammit.

“Why do you need two people with a bond deeper than death?” asked Steve.

TWO BONDED BEINGS REQUIRED FOR OPERATION. YOU ARE TWO BONDED BEINGS. ACCESS IS NOW LOCKED TO YOU UNTIL YOU NO LONGER EXIST. QUERY: OBJECTIVE.

“No objective. Can you be shut down?” asked Bucky.

Tony was going to be annoyed that they didn’t try to get more intel from the thing, but too bad.

CONFIRMATION REQUIRED FROM BOTH BEINGS.

“Shut down,” said Steve and Bucky at once.

CONFIRMATION ACCEPTED. SHUTTING DOWN.

And then the real world blinked back into focus, the artifact now gray and inert.

“What just happened? Did you break it?” asked the Indiana Jones wannabe.

Steve ignored him, and just stared at Bucky, who was flesh and bone beside him again, no hint of all that burning light and dark, except for maybe in Bucky’s eyes. They were still holding hands. Steve didn’t want to let go.

“Hey! Did you break it? What the—” Bucky startled and tore his gaze away from Steve.

“Yup. We broke it. Good news though, we already bought it, so don’t worry about it,” said Bucky, then tucked the artifact under his arm like a football, and dragged Steve out of the tomb.

“Okay, but what _did_ just happen,” asked Steve, jogging to keep up with Bucky.

Bucky looked back at him with wide eyes. “Don’t know, don’t care, let’s get out of here before something goes horribly wrong. I want to get rid of this thing and go back home, so we can consummate our damned marriage, Steve.”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes. Okay.”

Bucky drove them back to the airfield and the jet with dangerous speed, while Steve called Tony and T’Challa about the artifact.

“We’ve secured the artifact, and shut it down, so you can chuck it into the sun or whatever. I recommend that, by the way. We’ll leave it on the jet, we’re headed back home. Bye!”

“Wait, I need more details!” demanded Tony.

“Is it safe? Are you both well?” asked T’Challa.

“It is now. We’re fine,” called out Bucky. “Tell Shuri thank you for the rings, we’re going on our honeymoon now!”

Steve took that as his cue to hang up. He looked at Bucky, who kept his eyes on the road. “Our cover story. It wasn’t a cover, for me. I wasn’t lying, Buck.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

* * *

Once the artifact was secured and the jet was in the air, rapidly leaving Symkarian airspace, Steve and Bucky were left sitting on the plane, staring at each other, their earlier urgency deflated into nerves.

“So…what was that you said about consummating our marriage?” asked Steve, leaning towards Bucky across the seat.

He brought his hand up to Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky exhaled shakily even as he leaned in too, until they were close enough to feel each other’s breath on their lips. They stopped there for a long moment, and Steve thought of the moment of swinging weightlessness at the apex of a ferris wheel, when flight and falling both seemed equally possible. He didn’t know which of them moved to close the scant distance between them, only that all of a sudden they were kissing. At first they just traded tentative presses of their lips together, and Steve thought, _if we’d done this the first time I wanted to, it would have been like this_ , shy and awkward. But soon enough Bucky made a devastating small, wanting kind of sound, took Steve’s face in his hands, and opened his mouth to Steve.

Steve tried to go slow and careful at first, he really did, but he was greedy when it came to Bucky, and now of all times, he didn’t want any space between them, so it felt like no time at all before they were gasping and hungry, diving into each kiss as if coming up for air wasn’t necessary. Before Steve entirely knew what had happened, he was in Bucky’s lap, hands scrabbling to find bare skin.

The plane hit a few bumps of turbulence, and spilled Steve onto the floor. “The bed, let’s go to the bed—”

Bucky was beautifully disheveled, skin flushed and eyes dark and hazy with want, but even as he straddled Steve on the floor to keep pressing kisses to Steve’s jaw, his throat, he said, “Not on T’Challa’s _plane_ , oh my god, I’m not having sex with you for the first time while we’re thousands of feet in the—”

Steve groaned, then moaned when Bucky mouthed at a particularly sensitive spot. “Buck, are you _kidding_ me, it’ll be _hours_ until we’re back home—”

“We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer, _husband_ ,” said Bucky, then immediately undermined his point by grinding his hips against Steve’s. Steve was going to _die_.

* * *

Steve didn’t die of sexual frustration, though it sure felt like a close thing. Because Bucky had a truly horrifying amount of willpower and self-control, they did not, in fact, consummate their marriage while thousands of feet in the air on a royal Wakandan jet, no matter how much Steve whined and made fun of Bucky for his sudden streak of prim romance.

“You gonna carry me across the threshold now?” joked Steve when they were finally at their own door again, and Bucky promptly swept Steve up into a bridal carry and carried him to their bed, laughing at Steve’s squawks of protest.

When Bucky finally deposited him onto their bed, a kind of hush fell over them both. Bucky looked at Steve with pained wonder in his eyes, and for one disorienting flash, Steve saw Bucky as he’d seen him in the odd other-space of the artifact, a blaze of brilliant light and glittering dark, the truths of him that nothing could erase. Then it faded, and he was only Bucky again, beloved flesh and blood.

Steve pulled him down and kissed him and kissed him, and murmured every vow he’d ever wanted to make into the heated skin of Bucky’s throat and chest and thighs, until he ran out of words and could only let his body tell Bucky how much he wanted him, and listen in wonder as Bucky met him, kiss for kiss, desire for desire, vow for vow.

**Author's Note:**

> I know they speak Xhosa in Wakanda in Black Panther and Civil War, but the alphabet we see in Black Panther is definitely not the Latin alphabet used for Xhosa IRL, so I just went with calling it Wakandan here.


End file.
